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Favorite moment of Christmas 2008: Watching my mom laugh at reruns of “Jackass.”

It’s always good to know the source of what I choose to regard as inherited traits. I’ll chalk up my new-found “Guitar Hero” skills to my sense of rhythm, which I inherited from my dad. Inappropriate sense of humor? Thanks, Mom.

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Like all hopeful kids, my brother and I left cookies out for Santa when we were young. Santa needed a snack, and our grandmother’s sugar cookies and a glass of eggnog fit the bill quite nicely.

Of course, I realize now that Santa’s elves would have appreciated a gin and tonic much more.

I also remember my grandfather sprinkling hay in the front yard for the reindeer AND ensuring that it was gone the next morning. I don’t know whose idea it was, but I do remember thinking that I was one lucky little girl. After all, EVERYBODY left cookies and milk for the jolly old overfed elf. Reindeer get hungry too, and not that many kids had access to a barn filled with hay.

Anybody out there with any Santa-snacking/reindeer-feeding traditions? Leave a comment and share.

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horny-holidays

This is the most offensive and irreverent Christmas album you’re likely to ever come across. If you can put up with some cursing in your carols and a couple of sloppy takes on Christmas classics, however, you’ll discover a few gems featuring distinctive bass lines, great sax-playing, and inspired piano riffs by one Pete “Wet Dawg” Gordon.

You’re reading the cover right: It’s “Horny Holidays,” by Mojo Nixon and the Toadliquors.

Admittedly, I’ve got a soft spot for this collection, since my dad bought a copy during the last trip we took to New Orleans together. He played it in the car all the way back to my grandmother’s house. Two hours after leaving Tower Records, I knew this would be my go-to Christmas album.

Some of the songs are filthy (“Trim Yo’ Tree”), while others are haphazard versions of classics (“Good King Wenceslas”).

I won’t lie. Some of these songs will embarrass you in front of your friends and family.

Others will make it totally worth the humiliation, however. “It’s Christmas Time” has some of the best sax and piano parts on the album, though the album’s version of “Boogie Woogie Santa Claus” runs a close second. And Mojo’s rendition of “Run Rudolph Run” may be the most inspired version I’ve ever heard.

If you’re willing to have fun with some offbeat Christmas music and aren’t easily offended, then buy this album. Just don’t play it in front of kids or your mom. Unless she’s just like my mom, and is totally cool with that kind of thing.

Note: Mojo Nixon is best classified as “psychobilly,” apparently, and I hesitate to admit that this is the only album of his that I own. I was shocked that this was also the only Mojo album I found among in my dad’s music collection – maybe that tells you a little more about its awesomeness.

Wikipedia has a pretty thorough page on Mojo Nixon, and Mojo’s site features an enlightening and hilarious timeline of his life.

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Brainy AND graceful

Looking back, it’s obvious that the optimum time to discover the “animal-style” stain on my jeans from a recent In-N-Out Burger visit was probably not in the middle of a meeting with government officials.

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I almost fainted one night this week after bending my injured elbow. According to my husband, Bill, aka Mr. Science, bending it may have released some toxins that had been stored up, toxins that went coursing through my bloodstream with malicious intent. It certainly wasn’t the blood-and-guts factor, or I would have passed out while bleeding on fancy towels.

Whatever the reason, as the gray cloud crept in from the outskirts of my vision and I slowly and safely dropped to the bathroom floor, I realized the depths of my Southern upbringing. All I could think of was the saying, “I think I’m getting a case of the vapors,” a most hilarious sentiment, and one that would have had me giggling on the floor had the crippling nausea not overtaken me.

I was fine a few minutes later, thanks to patience and a few sips of Coca-Cola. The dizziness retreated, and my Seinfeld-like eight-year record of not throwing up remains intact.

My inner Southern belle is relieved.

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If you’re not the type of person who enjoys being the center of attention, then I have to advise you not to slip and fall like a cartoon character on the pool deck of a four-star hotel in Las Vegas.

I do hate to be fussed over. So standing around in bikini, half wrapped in a towel and bleeding on a couple of other expensive towels while waiting for the hotel’s EMT, was not the start of a grand Thanksgiving morning or a fantastic end to an anniversary celebration. Three hours and seven stitches later, though, I was back on vacation.

Kudos to the lady behind the towel counter, who didn’t freak out when I started bleeding on her fancy linens. Also kudos to the hotel EMT, who hastily applied a butterfly bandage to my gaping elbow laceration and sent me to the nearest doc-in-a-box for further repair.

Most of all, special thanks to my husband, who despite being way freaked out and worried about me, actually mopped up a little pool of blood when I asked him to (I hated to freak out the other guests). Later, after witnessing my one-handed eating efforts (can’t bend your arm with elbow stitches), he cut up my turkey for me. You can’t buy an anniversary gift like that.

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A Week of Why, Part IV

We’ll just wrap this up:

  • Our piles of books and magazines look so cute together.
  • He encouraged me to buy my dream car, and goes through all kinds of contortions to change the oil.
  • Four words: Still rocking the ponytail.

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The apocalypse nears

I just joined Facebook. Next I’ll be using the word “network” as a verb and accepting the phrase “grow the economy” without my left eye twitching.

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A Week of Why, Part III

The man makes one delicious calzone.

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A Week of Why, Part I

In honor of my wedding anniversary this Wednesday, I’ll be posting a week’s worth of reasons of why I’m still married to the guy who showed up 45 minutes late to our first date driving a drafty Volkswagen Vanagon.

Part I
Because last night, while mocking old music videos from the ’80s on YouTube, we had this conversation:

Bill: I’m trying to think of just one more good one. What about “Safety Dance”?
Me: Isn’t that the one with people dressed like they’re at a Renaissance Fair?
Bill: It has midgets.
Me: Oh, hell yeah.

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